Morphology of the Spirit
by Hikaru Irving
Summary: [Oneshot] All alone and lonesome in Dhaos' Castle, Klarth has a conversation with Gnome. Attempted!Humor.


Hikaru: Just 'cuz I played Symphonia first and when I played Phantasia, Gnome's form intrigued me greatly. Haha.

The monsters in Dhaos' castle were a royal pain in the ass. Mostly Cress managed to hold off the worst of them long enough to allow Klarth to summon, Mint to heal, and Arche to cast her worst spells—Indignation and Firestorm, in her case. When the team first infiltrated the castle, everyone had a "blonde" moment . . . that is, they only realized that Cress had no weapon when they began to fight. Oh, that's right, the Valkyrie took back the Gungnir . . .oops.

So, after several broken wrists and sprained ankles on Cress' part (all graciously healed by Mint), the team came to Dhaos' personal armory, which Cress took great liberty in looting, accumulating up to four different lances, one of which he took up arms. With the Mech Halberd in hand, Cress developed a habit of leaping into the air upon his enemy, shouting cheesy heroic lines such as _"I shall smite thee!" _with great childlike enthusiasm. A complete turnaround from the moody, PMS-y Cress from the Zodiac Tower, but a welcome one.

And now Klarth found himself standing on a switch to keep a door open, one that his teammates had went through without him. Klarth was fine with it; he had volunteered it, after all. Only he was so damn _bored. _Lacking their summoner (exceptionally handsome, strong summoner), the other three were bound to have some difficulty. Klarth remembered the hellish skirmishes that involved up to six spellslinging mages all casting simultaneously. If it hadn't been for Cress' jumping attacks and Klarth's uncanny ability to beat people silly with his spellbook, everyone would've been fried, electrocuted, drowned, frozen, and such manner of things beyond recognition.

Klarth grew tired of standing; he sat cross-legged on the switch, flipping through his spellbook absent-mindedly. The dim stone halls were eerily quiet, almost too quiet. Unlit torches lined the walls, and the darkness seemed to consume the halls beyond. Klarth shuddered. He never ever ever wanted to admit it, but when he was a child, he was, well . . . a bit scared of the utter dark and silence.

He needed company.

But, all alone and lonesome with nothing but his spellbook, Klarth took to checking with each Summon Spirit to see if they would be interested in keeping him company (and safe) while he awaited the others. Unfortunately, many of the Spirits were unwilling, only wanted to be bothered when Klarth _really _needed them. Such as fighting big bad Dhaos, not to keep at bay a groundless childhood fear of the dark.

Only one Spirit was willing to comply.

One by one, each component of Gnome, the Summon Spirit of Earth, popped out of the cobblestone ground around Klarth. He had to admit, the things were rather . . . cute. They kept bobbing up and down, in and out of the ground like little . . . what were they?

Digletts.

Gnome rather reminded Klarth of those little mole-like Digletts from a popular manga he had read before.

Which got him thinking.

"Hey, Gnome."

The mole thingies all congregated around the seated Klarth, like a bunch of excited children at story time. Its voice echoed as each one spoke.

"What . . ."

" . . . is . . ."

" . . . it . . .?"

Klarth mentally sighed. If each part of Gnome was going to finish one another's sentences, then this was going to be a long wait.

"I've been wondering, why do you look like that?"

Perhaps it was rude. But Klarth was only human, that damnable curiosity gnawed at him like a bunch of termites infesting the roots of a grand old oak. The Gnomes stopped finishing each other's sentences, instead they all spoke simultaneously this time. Did Gnome just talk in fragments to annoy people?

"Ah, you're referring to the morphology of the Spirit, pact-maker."

Klarth arched an eyebrow.

"Morphology?"

The Gnomes all simultaneously bobbed their heads up and down. Klarth found the display irritatingly cute.

"Yupo! We Summon Spirits, as the sentient manifestation of the elements of the world, are immortal, and have powers beyond that which you recognize!"

They jumped up and down and around as they spoke. Right he might be, but even for a Summon Spirit that was sort of cocky. Well . . . Klarth supposed that was punishment for his rather rude question. He may as well take it.

Gnome continued, his Diglett selves engaged in their hyperactivity of not being able to sit still.

"One of them is morphology. Spirits are sentient elements, and we take forms you humans can recognize. We can change our forms at will, which we do over a certain period of time once we get tired of a certain form or want to try out a new one to see how it fares during combat. Get me?"

Klarth nodded.

"Fascinating . . . so what form were you before this one?"

The Gnomes abruptly sat still, their meager expressions screwed up cutely in a thinking manner. Klarth wondered how it was to be able to manipulate four components of one's self while retaining sanity and capacity for rational thought.

"I was a gnome-thingy before. I had a spinning red ribbon."

Klarth's eyebrows shot straight up. His mind exploded with visions of the "spinning red ribbon" Gnome described. The Spirit rambled on as if Klarth weren't there.

"I beat people with a shovel, too . . ."

Gnome . . . went out to beat people with a shovel? What kind of Spirit was he?

"Volt's the same as always, Luna had a different hair color, Aska had two heads, Undine was completely different, Sylph had butterfly wings, Celsius existed, Efreet had wings on the sides of his head, Origin was a lot more muscle, Maxwell's the same old geezer—"

Klarth felt the anger of the other Spirits rising like yeast brewing the world's best beer. Indeed, how great it must be to be an immortal Spirit so that no matter how annoying you were, no one could kill you.

Footfalls echoed throughout the halls in the direction Cress and the others went. Klarth turned to Gnome, standing up.

"Thanks, Gnome. I think you should go now."

Gnome puffed up indignantly.

"_Fine, _be that way," The Gnomes stuck their tongues at Klarth before disappearing within the ground.

As Klarth expected, Cress led Arche and Mint through the hall, all three of them battle-weary—Arche had expended most of her mana, Mint exhausted her divine healing power, and Cress looked worst of all, Klarth wouldn't be surprised if the swordsman broke a few bones in the process.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Cress said brightly, clutching in his hand a small hand-mirror.

Klarth stepped off the switch, walked to his comrades.

"I beg you, don't leave me alone again."

Question marks ballooned over the heads of Cress, Mint, and Arche.

"Lest . . ." Klarth began apologetically, "I be subjected to the incessant ranting of hyperactive Spirits."

He couldn't see anything otherworldly, but Klarth knew that Gnome was still somewhere here . . . watching him, watching his every move . . .

Klarth had trouble banishing from his mind the thoughts of the little Diglett Gnomes wearing spinning red ribbons charging at him with huge shovels.


End file.
